


Night Views

by methylviolet10b



Series: Emergency Contact Number [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can see sights at night that you can't during the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Views

**Author's Note:**

> This is just about the end of the series - so if you haven't read any of the previous stories in this series, this probably isn't the place to start. Also, in case it wasn't already obvious, this series was written before Series 2 aired. 
> 
> Like all stories in this series, this is a promptfill fic, in response to two prompts this time: "a ferry ride at night" and "cold autumn wind, hot apple cider."

And Lestrade had thought it was cold in the park, where they’d found the last body. Sod that; it _had_ been cold, with a bitter late autumn wind that smacked entirely too much of winter’s chill, and the damp grey fog. Still, that had been balmy compared to the nearly-deserted passenger deck of the _James Newman_.  
  
“Don’t they heat this thing?” he grumbled. “And where are all the people?”  
  
“In their cars,” Sherlock sniffed. “There are very few pedestrian passengers on the Woolwich Free Ferry these days, even during daylight hours, much less after the sun sets. Almost all of the traffic is vehicular.”  
  
“And why aren’t we in a car? Why did you insist we travel as foot passengers?”  
  
“Because that’s what the victim did,” Sherlock said with withering scorn. “We’re retracing his steps.”  
  
Lestrade almost asked why. It was on the tip of his tongue. But he knew he wouldn’t get an adequate answer from Sherlock, and deep down, he already knew the real reason: because whatever Sherlock was about to reveal would be far more dramatic this way. He rolled his eyes, and noticed something out of the corner of his vision. He turned and saw Donovan approaching John, who leaned heavily against one wall, staring out the window at the night-shrouded river. His heavy aluminium cane dangled from one hand.  
  
“Isn’t this a bit hard on him?” The question slipped out before Lestrade could think twice about voicing it.  
  
He sensed more than saw Sherlock tense. “He wanted to come.”  
  
“And you’re being careful not to let him push too hard.” Lestrade made it a statement rather than a question, and Sherlock relaxed a little.  
  
“Of course.” Sherlock sounded dismissive, but his eyes remained fixed on John and Donovan as Donovan held out a small disposable cup. John took it with a smile, which broadened as Donovan poured something hot and steaming out of a silver thermos.  
  
“I’m sure it does him good to be out. His limp is much better.” It was true, too. John was still paler and thinner than he’d been before the accident, extremely susceptible to cold and easily tired, and the heavy limp was anything but psychosomatic. But the cane was a vast improvement over the crutches, and Lestrade hoped that one day soon he wouldn’t need the cane either.  
  
“He regularly astounds his physiotherapist,” Sherlock said softly. “Not that it’s overly difficult to surprise that woman, or John’s doctors. He’ll be running again before they’ll ever admit that he should be able to walk without the limp.”  
  
“I’m sure he will.”  
  
Donovan left John’s side and came over to Lestrade and Sherlock. “Hot cider?” she offered.  
  
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Unusual choice.” His tone, like hers, was far friendlier than it had been before the cab accident. At some point during John’s recovery, Sherlock and Donovan seemed to have reached some kind of accord. Lestrade was starting to hope that it was a permanent truce.  
  
“In this weather, it does better to keep off the chill than tea.” She shrugged. “Besides, it reminds me of my gran. Care for a cuppa?”  
  
Sherlock shook his head, his attention already returning to John, but Lestrade wasn’t foolish enough to pass up the offer. “Sure.”  
  
“Hold steady, then.” She handed him another small disposable cup out of her field kit, and then carefully started to pour. The scent of hot apples, cinnamon, and cloves filled the air as Sherlock walked away. “It’s good to see him back.”  
  
Although she was watching Sherlock, Lestrade had no question about who she really meant. Lestrade watched as Sherlock strode over to John and stood close to his side, unobtrusively placing himself so that if John lost his balance when the ferry lurched at the dock, the smaller man would stagger into him rather than fall to the floor. “Yes. Yes, it is. It’s good to have both of them back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted October 31, 2011


End file.
